The Sound of Silence
by HannahCake310
Summary: When the world ended it did so not with a bang, but a fever. The Sickness spread faster than a cure could be made killing those not immune from coast to coast in a matter of months. Now it is not about living. It's about surviving.
1. Chapter 1: The Sickness

**Title taken from the song The Sounds of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel I would suggest listening to it, the live version on youtube from the 25th anniversary Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Concert. It's just this side of spooky and perfect for a zombie fic, I think.**

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It was dark outside, silent. No cars rumbled past or buses chugged along. The streetlights must've taken the night off because they weren't even alight on the other side of Jim's window to annoy him like they usually did. Jim turned over in his small bed once, snuggled his head into the pillow, realized he couldn't breathe then turned back around to the other side where he'd started. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. But it must've been one or two in the morning by this point so he didn't question it.

He should have, but he didn't.

Jim opened his eyes when sleep didn't offer its warm embrace and stared at the ceiling. He could have sworn he'd turned his ceiling fan on last night before stumbling into bed. Now however, it stood still - unwavering, unmoving - but Jim couldn't find it in himself to care, to question. Maybe he was crazy and hadn't turned the fan on last night. Either way he just stared wanting nothing more than to fall asleep. He lay there for an hour longer before the silence was just too much. Something wasn't right.

Something was wrong.

Maybe he was just hungry. His pain medication made him hungry.

With a sigh of defeat, Jim swung his sheet - it had been too hot for the comforter - back then maneuvered his one good leg and one bad leg into a sitting position. Hugging and cursing his broken ankle he grabbed for his crutches that were conveniently placed beside his bed leaning against the wall. He ignored the digital clock that blinked out a time and his cell phone as he heaved himself off the bed grunting and groaning trying his damnedest not to put any weight on his bad leg.

 _"Six weeks, no weight baring post surgery. Sorry Jim, looks like you'll have to take some time off work."_

The doctor had been kind, if not a little tired and just this side of cute. But, the wedding ring that shined around his third finger dashed any plans Jim had had about asking to play doctor with the man later. All was well however since the man's brown eyes and blonde hair reminded him too much of Sam's and Jim was not about to make a move on a guy who reminded him of his brother because no. Just no.

But _damn_ did he have a thing for doctors. The white lab coat. The brooding atmosphere of knowing too much about the human body and its workings. The over tired protectiveness of their patients and, last but certainly not least, the three day stubble that blanketed their chins. Sexy.

The air was cool as Jim slowly crutched one foot at a time out his bedroom.

Put one foot in front of the other.

Or two crutches front of one foot, as his case may be.

He would turn the light on the brighten the otherwise dark room but those switches were all the way across the room. Too much work. So he trudged on in darkness until he reached the lip of the stairs. Swiftly, because he'd been doing this by himself for two weeks already, he threw his one crutch down the steps and cringed as it clanked loudly against the carpeted floor and side of the steps. He then leaned into the raining, took the other crutch down a step and hopped down. He did it once more, then twice until sinking to the step and throwing his remaining crutch at its twin. It hit the side of the wall, Jim hoped he wouldn't have a dent in the morning.

Something still felt off.

Maybe he was still hungry.

Maybe it was his pain medication making him paranoid.

Maybe he just really wanted the rest of that left over hamburger he knew was in his refrigerator.

And so Jim slid his butt down the steps silently - or not so silently since he lived alone in his house - berating himself for not turning on any lights. By the time he reached the ground where his two crutches lay the cool feeling that he had felt evaporated as sweat glistened on his forehead. He had only recently broken his ankle making every movement harsh and more effort was expelled than he was used to. Jim grabbed his crutches and leaned until he was upright then began his journey to the kitchen.

The house was not big, not small but it was his. Bought using money from his job and parts of his inheritance from his dead father. It was only a few blocks from the small college he used to go to before people had started to get sick and attendance had dropped so much that they had to close it down.

People had been getting sick for a while. Fevers, chills, throwing up into trash cans on the street as Jim walked past them with his nose in his shirt while looking away discreetly because ew. He didn't even like Peter, Sam's son, throwing up on him and he loved the little guy. After his school had closed down Jim had focused solely on his work with nothing better to do. He liked fixing cars and tinkering inside engines. So what if he couldn't get the degree in engineering like he'd always wanted - this was the next best thing. Right?

Jim had dedicated his time to working his life away - which wasn't too hard - until some of his coworkers started to get sick. When Jim had stumbled upon Arty passed out in the bathroom he knew something was defiantly wrong. It wasn't just a stomach flu going around the streets of San Fran as the newscasters had said, people were really getting sick.

But then Jim, in a show of true and utter Kirk luck, had shattered his ankle.

Falling down the steps.

In his own home.

Stone cold sober.

And he'd just laughed at himself already feeling his body go into shock. He'd called the paramedics to come help him but after twenty minutes of waiting he just said _Fuck it_ and picked himself off the ground high enough to crawl. He didn't have anyone else he wanted to call. Sam was on vacation in Europe for the month relishing in his high end job that let him travel the world with his family. He wouldn't call his mother to help him because no. Just… no. Other than that he didn't really have anyone he was close enough to come help him. Jim Kirk loved people but he was a loner at heart keeping track of only himself. He was an extrovert when he felt like it but an introvert the six other days of the week. So, with no other option, he crawled out to his car and he drove himself to the hospital.

Jim had been surprised to see all of the people sitting in the waiting room as he checked himself in.

"If you're sick go sit with the others," the lady - _Barbara_ , her name tag had a flower sticker peeling off it - said without looking up from her papers. Jim had cocked his head to the side angry and in pain and way too embarrassed to be sitting in a wheelchair since he couldn't walk.

"I'm not sick I broke my goddamn ankle now can I please get some help here?"

She had looked up at him surprised at his tone and leaned over to see his mangled foot.

"Right this way," she pointed to which Jim followed.

They took X-rays, twisted, prodded, touched and gave him a cast telling him to stay off his foot and come back in a few weeks. The sexy doctor told him about possible surgery but Jim had waved him off with an o _h, no, I wont need that_ , because he hated hospitals enough as it was and he was not about to lay down so they could cut open his ankle. No sir, not for him.

When he had crutched out of the hospital to his car - no he didn't need a nurse to push him in a wheelchair he was a grown ass man, damnit - Jim looked at all the sick people coughing into tissues or hands. Their skin all looked grey with dull hair. Jim wasn't sure if a cure had been found yet but he hoped it would be soon. He might've been an asshole but he still cared…

By the time Jim finally made it to the fridge he felt clammy and out of breath. He had bypassed the light switch to the kitchen too preoccupied with his thoughts so darkness still reigned in his household. He balanced on one foot letting the other one rest on the ground careful not to place any weight on to it then leaned his crutch against the counter. With a jump-hop he was at the refrigerator with his hand on the cool plastic. Like he had done a thousand times before, Jim opened the door feeling the cold brush of air against his bare chest and face. But something was wrong. Instead of there being a hallelujah gospel inspired ark of light shining like God's own smile from the fridge, there was nothing. More darkness and shadows where his food was kept.

Oddly enough, that was how Jim Kirk, college drop out and one footed wonder kid, figured out the world had essentially ended.

 **Tbc…**


	2. Chapter 2: The House

Leonard McCoy gently slid his knife back into its sheath without a glance and less than half a thought. It was easy now. Normal. Scalpels and surgical knives used to be the norm but now it was long daggers and guns that he held in his hands more often than not.

"House is clear!" a man in another room yelled. It sounded like Scotty if the accent could tell him anything. Leonard opened the door in front of him searching for anything – food, clothes, batteries, water, anything to help them survive in a world that was dead set on killing them.

The house they were currently scavenging from was just another in a long row of homes long abandoned. Much of the current neighborhood lay desolate and while the majority weren't in disrepair they all gave off an aura of uninhabitable. It looked like the people in this neighborhood – like most neighborhoods – had just picked up and left after hearing the promises of safe zones and clean areas outside the cities or far out in the country side. And everyone had just up and left. Doors still standing open, windows with shutters half closed, children's play toys still strewn over the yard, clothes splayed anywhere and everywhere. It's amazing what people forget when they're running for safely away from the Sickness.

The Sickness wasn't something that started quick and attacked fast. It was slow, creeping and crawling along with first a cough then chills and a fever. Then skin turned an ashen color and blood was thrown up. By that point it was too late, after came the Dead Eyes, as Sulu had so graciously put it. It was the look of absolute blankness that clouded the eyes. It was a black rotting color that started in the pupils then somehow impossibly spilled into the irises and then out into the whites of their eyes. After that happened it was only days, sometimes hours before the person either keeled over and died or turned into... Well, Leonardo shivered at the thought, they turned into something less than pleasant.

"McCoy!" Someone yelled from another room and Leonard was off walking towards the voice hiking his backpack over his shoulder now slightly weighed down with a few cans and little else. When he entered into what looked like it had once been a bedroom for a child he stopped, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. Something, a small something. Like a child. Like a baby. Lay in the bed. Still. Lifeless. Leonard wanted to throw up. He looked over to Uhura, her long brown hair pulled back into a tight pony tail and hands on her mouth. Her eyes shown with unshed tears even though she had seen worse in the two months since they'd met after the breakout of the Sickness had reached national proportions.

Leonard stuck his hand out to grab for the woman. "Come on, Uhura. Let's get out of this shithole." Suddenly it didn't matter if this house had food in it, they needed to get out of here. They needed supplies for camp but not this badly. Leonard wanted to throw up desperately.

Together the two made their way out of the room closing the door behind them with a click. Uhura reached into her backpack, grabbed the black spray paint can in hand and shook it before disappearing out the way they had come into the house that Leonard could bet used to be a nice one back in the day. Swiftly he walked into the kitchen getting Scotty and Spock's attention and telling them they needed to leave. Neither argued as they saw the look in Leonard's eye. Grabbing anything that even looked useful and stuffing it all in their backpacks the three collected any stragglers and walked out of the house. Uhura stood just out the door, spray paint ready and when the door was firmly shut she shook the can again before stepping forward. She wrote two words and stepped back, turned around and stuffed the can back inside her pack. The white door now dripped with black paint as the party of people searching for supplies started walking away.

 _Dead Inside._

The next house made Sulu, the front of the pack of people, stop. The house looked different from the rest and he said as much to Spock. "Look at the windows and doors," he pointed. Everything was shut tight. Door closed and what looked like boards stacked against the inside of the windows. It was strange. Why board up the _inside_ of the windows?

"It might be another survivor," suggested the youngest in the group, Chekov. Leonard crossed his arms, "Or it might be a bunch of Dead One's in there someone trapped."

The Dead One's only come out at night or when it rained and when they did they were silent and limping or running and screaming. Two types. Both dangerous. Both hungry. By this point those who weren't immune to the sickness were either dead or dying and so the survivors didn't have to worry about getting sick, they only had to worry about dying. Being bitten or scratched meant you were dead even if you were immune to the airborne sickness. Leonard found that out with Jocelyn.

Jocelyn wasn't immune. She died when they ran from their home in Georgia.

Joanna hadn't been immune.

It must have been some sick cosmic joke that Leonard wasn't affected by the sickness. Leonard refused to think any more of it.

Every survivor now, and there were admittedly not many, tried to survive in this new world. Find food, find shelter, find a group of friends that won't kill you for your food or your shelter. It wasn't living, it was surviving.

Not something that brought a lot of hope.

"Maybe we should leave it 'lone," Scotty scowled up at the lone house that truly looked to be in better condition than all the rest.

Uhura came up beside Spock looking at the house. "We need supplies. We haven't gotten enough to take back to camp."

Always the rational mind, Leonard reasoned.

"If nothing else ve need to get inside somewhere before it starts to rain." Chekov looked up at the sky eyeing the dark clouds rolling and shifting as they moved, his accent thickening with worry.

The Dead One's always came out when it rained. Always. They loved the rain. Leonard could only make assumptions of why the dead liked the rain but nothing he had was concrete.

Spock nodded his head and startled walking forward with Sulu a step behind and Leonard a few paces back. The walked over the overgrown grass and through the garden that Leonard could tell somebody used to take pride in but now it was nothing but an over grown, weed ridden mess. They made it to the door, weapons drawn. Sulu went for the handle like he'd done it a thousand time, which he had. The knob doesn't budge and neither does the door. It stays tights not even jiggling on it's hinges. Sulu turns back to the others.

"I really think we should leave this one alone."

"Bullshit," Adam Hendorff comes forward. "We need supplies." Is all he says before bringing a foot up to slam it into the door. Spock shoots forward before the man can explode the door grabbing his foot and holding on tight.

"What?" Hendorff huffs trying to jerk his appendage out of the pale man's grip.

"If it does indeed start to rain we will need some place safe and secure to house ourselves until the Dead One's leave."

Adam rolls his eyes but understands. He backs off the door to the side crossing his arms. Chekov comes forward without a word. He reaches into his back pocket for his lock picking kit then gets down on one knee. He takes out his tools and brings them to the lock of the door knob with trained fingers. He has the two long metal tools inside the lock working when he curses in Russian once, then twice. The boy licks his bottom lip scooting himself closer to the lock until his nose is only an inch from the offensive thing.

"Come on you," he whispers more to himself than to the people standing around him.

"Is there a problem?" Spock inquires, he's never seen the young man take this much time picking a lock. Spock thinks on how the boy could have been a child genius before the Sickness overcame humanity. He was at a science conference near the Bay when the order for evacuation rang from all over. That was where Spock had met Chekov. The young Russian had been scared and alone and Spock, after a heated argument with Nyota, had agreed to let the boy come with them as they traveled to the safe zones. Chekov, because he insisted that only his mother called him Pavel, had said little on the trip but he didn't have to, Spock wasn't much of a talker and Nyota was too distracted with her own thoughts. They had made it just as far at their current camp before they met up with more survivors trying to get out but having little supplies and no means of transportation other than their own two feet. Everyone had different skills with more interesting back stories and they fell into place with each other. Built the camp. Built a new temporary life.

Everything is different now. Backgrounds didn't matter anymore. The world ended and it's up to them to survive or die on their own.

Chekov works a few minutes longer, just enough time for it to make Leonard almost call off the endeavor entirely. But then he hears a click and another and another and the boy is moving the handle to open the door. There's a crack and a groan as the thing that had the door locked and bolted shut falls away onto the ground.

"Someone does not vant people in," is all Chekov says before he stands back, this part of his job finished. Sweat sticks to his brow, Leonard had never seen the boy struggle so with anything let alone a normal house lock. Leonard looks to Spock who looks back and together they walk into the house.

It is strange, Leonard thinks to himself crossing the threshold, the house looked clean and organized. No sign of a hurried escape or the toss and tumble of things from scavengers. There was even a mug sitting next to a children's toy on the coffee table in front of a well-used couch. No dust litters what should have been an abandoned house, everything is clean. Leonard is tempted to ask how long ago the evacuation order for this area was given but he already knows and he also knows that it was a long enough time ago that dust should have started to settle on the surfaces of the home. There is none, however. Everything is just so damn _clean_. He looks back at the door to see a large metal contraption half over the inside handle, half on the ground. Something to keep people out for sure.

Suddenly something shifts and just about blinds Leonard. Lights shine above him making him gasp and put a hand over his sensitive eyes. When nothing more happens he takes his hand away in astonishment. There, shining above him and all around what seems to be someone's living room were lights. Real honest to god _lights_.

"Wow..." Uhura breaths behind him as she looks over all of the lights brightening the otherwise shadowed home. The lights take on a warm color that makes Leonard think of his old home before he snaps himself away from his traitorous thoughts. It isn't that they have no electricity – that still works somewhat in their camp. It is just that they have not seen lights this bright in so long. San Francisco was one of the last places to get hit with the Sickness so for the people living here it must've only been a few months since the evacuation but for everyone else it's been longer. Georgia was hit six months ago. Ohio, seven and New York nine. Slowly the sickness inched across the states as people fled to safe zones and brought the sick with them.

"I think," Sulu begins looking around the little house. Leonard would have almost called it a cozy little home. "I think someone is living here."

"Hello!" calls Scotty loudly making the people in the back jump. "Anyone 'ere!? We're not gonna hurt ye!" Spock looks to Scotty when he's done yelling with a scowl.

"Search the house for anyone. Don't take anything. It might just be some poor bastard trying not to die here." Leonard instructed to which Spock inclined his head in agreement. The party fanned out some venturing to the area Leonard assumed was the kitchen while others opened doors trying to find the basement. Leonard motioned to Spock then pointed up the steps. Uhura saddled up behind them and nodded quietly saying she would go with them. The three climbed the steps of the admittedly small but functioning house. The carpet on the steps was a nice clean white color that Leonard hadn't seen in a while. There were cracks and nicks along the side of the steps in the paint that made Leonard question the origin of. When they reached the top Spock and Leonard went to the right towards what looked to be a main bedroom while Uhura went left where there were a few closed doors.

Leonard went first into the room. The bed was messy with pillows and the comforter more on the ground than bed. There were head divots in the two pillows that lay side by side making Leonard wonder if there were two people here and not just one.

He pauses when he hears something small, a whimper. It sounds like a child and Leonard remembers there being a child's toy on the table downstairs. He hopes to God there isn't a sick child in this house. He couldn't go through that again. Not after seeing the baby in the other house, he can see Joanna clearly in his mind. Her pasty skin and black eyes that used to swell with creamy brown–

 _Stop_! He tells himself forcing him to focus on the here and the now.

"Hello!" He says loudly mimicking Scotty. "We don't want to hurt you." He says thinking that if there was a child in the room it was probably scared out of its mind. And damned smart if he or she put together that locking mechanism.

There's another sound, more like someone crying and another gently shushing them. It's faint and if Leonard wasn't intently looking for something it would have gone unnoticed. Spock hears it to. It seems he knows where it's coming from for he turns towards the left side of the room where there is no door but more carpet leading back to the bathroom. Spock signals for him to follow and Leonard does quietly picking up his feet. They slowly make their way to the bathroom trying to muffle their footsteps. They follow the carpet, it's nice and smooth and too white after Leonard had only seen dirt and grime for so long. When they get to a closed door Leonard draws his long knife while Spock holds his gun up closer to his face. The both get close to a door and listen to hear anything.

Sure enough they hear another sound, a shuffle of clothing. It's small, so very, very faint that Leonard almost thinks he never heard anything in the first place. But then Spock nods his head. He heard it to. By some unspoken agreement Spock backs up a few feet and Leonard gets the hell out of the way. There seems to be a silent countdown from three to one and Spock runs at the door slamming his shoulder into it. Someone screams. Sobs. It's a shrill sound before it's muffled.

"Shh, shh, Kevin. It's okay buddy." Is whispered by a disembodied voice inside the pitch black bathroom. Leonardo comes forward into the room while Spock grabs for the light switch and turns it on.

The sight makes Leonard take a step back and throw his hands in his air, knife almost slicing Spock in the process. It's a man with longer than normal blond hair and a handsome but sweaty face. He is skinny. Very skinny as his cheek bones protrude out from his face unnaturally. The man's leg is bent at an awkward angle and Leonard, always the doctor, sees that he has a black hard cast wrapped around his foot disappearing into his jeans. Leonard then notices the man has an arm and practically his entire body wrapped around a small child, a boy, protectively. The boy is crying into the man's shirt. The child looks no older than six or seven but both people look so small inside the bathtub huddled close. It is then he notices what is in the man's other hand. It's shiny and black. A gun.

"Come any closer and I'll shoot the fuck out of you."


	3. Chapter 3: The Intruder

Jim wasn't all that surprised someone had managed to break into his house. In all honesty, he'd been waiting for it – seeing how long it took for a group of people desperate enough to pick the lock he had engineered over the knob and handle of his front door. They could have gotten in through the back door, if Jim was being candid. That door was boarded up from the inside just like all the windows on the first and second story. But someone dedicated could have kicked it down.

What did surprise Jim however, was that he hadn't heard them coming. Maybe he had become lax after a month of complete silence from the outside world after so much noise. Maybe he had forgotten that true danger lurked outside his safe haven. Or maybe Kevin had been too loud as he sat in his lap playing with his little toy whilst Jim drank hot tea from his favorite mug. Whatever the reason Jim's trained ears didn't pick up the sound of the party outside his fortress before it was too late. Scratches and the telltale signs of someone expertly picking at his specially designed lock sounded through the home making Jim jump to his one good foot. He grabbed hold of the little boy roughly until a wave of dizziness made his vision blurry and he had to set the child down on the couch as lightly as he could. The child, Kevin, looked up at him with wide brown eyes before scrambling off the couch and over to the staircase waiting for Jim. Just like he was taught to do. Just like Jim had taught him to do. The little boy stayed silent and dry eyed, a testament to how many times Jim had assured him he would keep him safe as long as they stuck together.

Without a word and holding back any grunts of pain Jim limped heavily on his bad ankle over to the boy, took his hand and together the two made their way up the steps with Jim's hand clamped securely onto the child's small soft hand. It took longer than it should to get to ascend the stairs, Jim had awoken this morning feeling off. An odd throbbing had started coming from his ankle in the last week that Jim wasn't used to. A cool sweat broke across his forehead as he moved through his home with the child.

When they made it to Jim's bedroom bypassing Kevin's room – or the spare room Jim had set up to be the little boys' private room that the kid never actually slept in since he spent all his time with Jim – he whisked them into his room closing the door just as he heard a loud click from the first level. That was it then. The person picking his lock had cracked it.

They were coming inside.

 _Well_ _fuck_.

"Bathroom." He whispered knowing the little boy could hear him. Kevin disappeared into the bathroom while Jim limped to his dresser. Reaching in, he pulled out his gun and stuffed it into the back of his jeans like he'd seen old Cowboys do in the movies. The gun was cold and balky making him shiver as the metal touched his skin. He was no sissy but he also wasn't a gun totter either. He preferred fists. The last person who had tried to break into his home had felt his fists and stayed away, but... Jim shuttered, maybe this was them back for another round. He didn't know why the thought hadn't hit him straight away that he should've stayed down stairs and fought but it hadn't and now he felt sick to his stomach. And lightheaded. His heart beat fast, he could hear it in his ears. Yet, Jim was not all that scared. He didn't know why his body suddenly felt so heavy but it was not from fear.

Quickly, he took a step away from the dresser and towards the bathroom where Kevin waited. He only took one step but he felt a wave of nausea wash through his body. He stumbled, caught himself grabbing for the dresser and bit his cheek swallowing the bile that breached his throat. He grit his teeth and limped to the bathroom. Not the time. Not the time.

When he entered Kevin, his small body in a tight ball, was already in the tub waiting on Jim as he shut off the lights and slowly, slowly, _quietly_ closed then locked the door. He made his way over to the child climbing into the tub taking the gun out from behind his back and placing it on the shelf of the tub then collected the child in his arms. Kevin wrapped his small bony arms around Jim like a monkey scared he'd be forgetten by his family.

Which he had been forgotten by his family, but Jim wasn't about to think about that right now.

"I'm scared," the little boy cried softly into Jim's shirt. His brown hair was just this side of greasy, Jim had been planning on helping him wash tonight then using the water to wash his own dirty body as well. Their water supply was dwindling quickly.

"Shh," he soothed running his hand over Kevin's back and holding him tighter. The kid had been good at staying solid for the last few minutes but he was only a child and if Jim was being honest with himself a small part of him also wanted to hide and cry."It's gonna be fine, Kev. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you."

There was a crash from downstairs. Voices. Jim picked up the gun in his free right hand clutching it tight. The coolness of the white bathtub beneath him made the fogginess in his brain clear just a little and for that he was grateful.

Sounds carried up from the vents. It sounded like someone talking, a voice that was deep and husky answered then a voice that was higher, a woman, spoke next. This was really it then, there were really people in his house. Jim grit his teeth, he knew this day would come. He knew someday someone would break in whether it be someone sick or a group of survivors. Jim feared for not himself but the small bundle he held in his arms. Deftly he clutched the gun tighter. He would be damned if he didn't go down without a fight.

Creeks, cracks, they were walking up the stairs. They were slow going if the sound of their voices speaking loudly in the otherwise silent second story were anything to go by. The creak of a door opening startled Kevin, he cried again and Jim shushed him out of habit. He could feel his heat beating in his chest. He forced his breathing to slow and even out. He'd be useless if he passed out from hyperventilating. And that be embarrassing keeling over because he was stupid. It was hot in the small cramped bathroom, or maybe Jim was just sweating. Kevin felt almost cool against him.

"Hello?" Someone with a deep voice called making the child jump even harder, Jim grabed hold of his striped shirt clenching his teeth. "We don't want to hurt you."

Bullshit.

Whatever the hell was going on out in the world there was no one who just wanted to make nice, Jim thought bitterly.

They were walking now, Jim could hear the shuffle of his carpet.

Closer. Closer. Closer. Jim could hear multiple sets of footsteps walking. Jim doesn't blink in the pitch darkness of his bathroom while he and the boy who wondered to his door over a month ago cower in the bathtub like it's their bunker.

Suddenly there's a crash, light rips into the small room, a child screams, and Jim holds him closer raising his gun at the two men who stand at the door. Jim brings up his gun, finger on the trigger. They're both tall, one with brown hair and the other black. They're dirty in the way all the people Jim sees outside his window are covered in dirt and mud and bruises. They have backpacks hanging from their shoulders that bulge with things and jackets that are light but effective looking. Both hold weapons in their hands. A gun and a knife, Jim readies himself for a fight. He'll not go down easy.

"Come any closer and I'll shoot the fuck out of you," he says silently congratulating himself on his steady voice. The man with brown hair that is only slightly shorter than the straight black haired man puts his hands up in surrender. A long knife reflects off the shadowed light from the hallway. The man looks over to black haired man and nods at him to lower his weapon.

"Spock." Brown Hair says. He has a deep voice, must've been the one Jim heard earlier. Black Hair – _Spock_? – slowly puts his gun on the ground not taking his eyes off Jim.

Trying to channel the scowl and piercing gaze he'd once had perfected haggling customers at the auto shop who wanted more work done for less money, Jim barked. "Come any closer and you fuckers are dead."

"We do not wish to harm you," says Spock very properly and Kevin whimpers into Jim's ear where his head is pressed to his neck.

"Shut up, bowl cut," he snaps at the man with his strange haircut. He doesn't lower his gun. "Then why the hell did you break into my house." It's more of a demand for them to answer than a question.

"We're survivors," Brown Haired man implores with his hands out as if he was trying to pacify Jim and the scared little boy in his arms. Jim is struck by the accent coloring his words. Southern. Like honey. "We came looking for supplies. Everyone else in this neighborhood high-tailed it outta here months ago. We assumed all these houses were abandoned."

"Well they're not." Jim growled keeping up the facade that he was the man in charge. In his hand the gun wavered slightly as a wave of dizziness washed through him. Damn, he felt like shit. "How do I know you guys aren't sick?"

"Do we look like we're fucking sick–" Brown Hair started but Spock cut him off.

"I can assure you neither ourselves nor anyone in our group has contracted the illness that affected so many. We are all immune."

 _Immune_. The word echoed inside Jim's ear reverberating around his skull and down his chest. For a second he let the gun falter slightly as he could feel his eyes widen. He hadn't know people could be immune to the Sickness. He didn't know that much, in fact. He'd been stuck in this house. It had been fine until the cable went out and he couldn't watch the news anymore.

First to go was the electricity, Jim found that out when he opened his refrigerator door and no light shined. After that he'd tried the light switch. No dice. Everything was dark. He tried the phone lines next. Nothing. No outgoing, no incoming. Nothing. So Jim had sat in his room telling himself to _calm the fuck down, Kirk_ because freaking out was not going to solve anything damnit! When he'd collected himself he'd scooted and crutched down to the basement with an orange plastic flashlight in hand and jumped into the wires and trying to mix and match to get anything back. Any power. Any electricity. _Anything_. It took hours, days maybe, Jim wasn't sure but he did it.

God Bless that engineering degree he never got.

God Bless his parents working for NASA and having every day be _take your kid to work_ day or _smuggle your kid to work_ _and put him in a corner with some circuits to play with since his mother was too cheap to get a sitter_ day.

Then the lights had flipped back on in a flash of glory that Jim was way too proud of.

By the time Jim had crawled his way up the steps relishing in his put-together-with-duck-tape-and-prayers generator powering electricity to his house he was tired. He left his crutches by the steps and continued to crawl to the living room. There he switched on the TV and cringed at the massive alert that sounded on all channels.

"... _Evacuate. This is an announcement from the National Center for Disease Control. There has been an outbreak of a virus yet unnamed causing severe reactions leading to violence and death. Please Evacuate. Please go to the nearest Safe Zone immediately–"_

Jim flipped the channel.

The newscaster speaking was pale and sweating. " _If you are hearing this broadcast we are urging you to find a safe place. This sickness... This virus is causing people to act violently and unpredictable. It is almost like they're turning into, and I can't believe I'm saying this. Turning into zomb_ –"

Jim turned the channel again. This time it was a black screen with white words flashing across.

"EVACUATE."

He stared at the screen for the longest time then switched off the television all together. He looked down at his broken ankle then over at his crutches. He wouldn't get very far... He got winded just hopping up the stairs to his room. The pain medication made him sick and his ankle throbbed something awful from the tips of his toes to under his knee cap. His right leg was shit, he wouldn't be able to drive. Jim slapped his knees. He couldn't leave. He couldn't get ahold of anyone. Already the lights around his home had started to dim. He cursed running a rugged hand over his greasy hair and stood up to grab his crutches.

If he wasn't going out then he was going to made damn sure no one would be able to come in…

Brown Hair raised his eye brow at Jim, his eyes raking up and down his body. Jim opened his mouth to spit something else but the man cut him off.

"Look, I used to be a doctor and I know you don't trust us but you need to let me look at you. You don't look very good."

Jim felt his already sweaty face drain of color. He hated doctors. He hated hospitals. They were the reason everyone was sick. They were the ones who couldn't find the cure in the first place. They were the ones who casted his leg wrong and made it hurt. They were the reason people were dying. They were the ones responsible. Jim felt his breathing get faster, faster and faster.

Brown Hair took a step forward. Hands out he gently said, "My name is Doctor Leonard McCoy I'm from Atlanta, Georgia. This is Spock, we're with a few other people who are downstairs right now under orders not to take anything." He took another step forward acting as if Jim was a hurt animal. His eyes went to the black cast that still covered Jim's ankle from toes to below the knee but disappeared under his jeans. "We don't want to hurt you or your kid, alright? I think I should take a little look-see at your leg."

"I don't need a Sawbones!" Jim said loudly causing Kevin to press into him harder. Spock stepped forward beside the man named Leonard.

Leonard stopped and nodded his head aggressively. "Okay. Okay. Fine. Then why don't we start with your name and how the fuck you managed to hole yourself up in this house of yours without any of the Dead One's getting in?"

Jim looked at the two wearily. He hadn't spoken to anyone older than Kevin in months. He was skiddish, they could hurt him. They could hurt Kevin. Finally he rented. Telling them his name couldn't hurt.

"Jim Kirk."

"Hello, Jim," Leonard smiled with the side of his lip. "Can we talk outside this claustrophobic as hell bathroom?"

Jim still had the gun in his hand but his arm was tiring with every second that passed. Man, maybe something was wrong. He felt so weak.

"Go in the bedroom," he ordered gesturing with the gun out. Leonard nodded but it was Spock who turned first to leave. When it was just Kevin and Jim in the bathroom the little boy looked up at him for the fist time. Dried tears and snot crusted his face.

"Are they gonna kill us?" He whispered, some of his words slurring through the small gaps where baby teeth were missing. Jim didn't know how to answer so instead of lying he deflected.

"Hey," he said to the boy calling his attention. "You and me, right? The two mustekteers, yeah? We'll be fine."


	4. Chapter 4: The Rain

It takes two tries to get out of the bathtub.

"Fuck." Jim wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his t-shirt then straightened. He forces himself to take a deep breath calming his pounding heart and shaking hands. The gun is pointed at the ground on the opposite side of Kevin who sits on the shelf of the tub. "Alright," he nodded to the boy who stood before also nodding his head with a put upon hard look covering his face that just looked adorably silly on his small pudgy face. Jim opened his mouth to say something else but Kevin put his hands on his slim hips and shook his head, frowning and mirroring Jim's scowl and frown.

"Yeah, fuck," the little boy said determinedly. Jim's eyes widened, he jerked his head around eyes wide and opened his mouth then closed it again looking like a fish.

Wait… what?

After the initial shock had worn off Jim chastised himself. Damn, he was never supposed to be a parent. Great fucking job he's doing. If the kid had anywhere else to go Jim would have sent him right along the night he'd stumbled to Jim's door sobbing and pounding the door with his little fists begging for his mother and saying that he couldn't find her. But Jim didn't have the heart to send the kid away or the means to get someone else to take him on, so he kept him. Like a puppy that cried and talked back and snuggled so close to him he'd felt like he was surrounded by a tiny octopus.

"Alright Cowboy, no need to be a hero," he smiled at the boy and roughed up his greasy brown hair before turning from him and exiting the bathroom.

When Jim came limping from the bathroom with Kevin placed firmly behind him he was surprised to see the Sawbones – Leonard? – easily reclined on his bed, head resting on his pillow. Spock stood by the boarded up window looking through the crack in the wood Jim had made to look outside at what hell the world had become.

"Make yourself at home," Jim hoped his evil eye portrayed his annoyance at the man in his bed.  
Don't get him wrong, Leonard was good looking. Tall, southern by his accent, brown hair that looked soft to the touch and a stubbled chin that Jim could picture himself running his tongue–

Not the time Jim, not the damn time.

Leonard looked at him from his bed sitting up. "Why don't you come on over and I'll take a look at that leg of yours?"

Jim crossed his arms. His mom used to always tell him he was a stubborn son of a bitch. "Why don't you tell me what's going on out there."

From the window Spock tilted his head, "You do not know–"

"Hey, I didn't find anything in the other…" A woman came walking into Jim's room before halting so hard her hair swooshed in front of her face. She was beautiful, dark skinned and armed with knives at her hips. Her eyes were big and brown reminding Jim of Kevin's. She was beautiful and Jim silently thanks all the deities out there that the first woman he'd seen in so many months was this long legged goddess.

God Bless beautiful women.

Leonard rolled his eyes when the woman just stood there staring at Jim with confused dark brown eyes. "Jim Kirk, Uhura. Uhura, play nice with the man who owns this house that we just broke into." He said tiredly closing his eyes. Jim had to hold back his huff of annoyance again at the strange man in his bed.

"I know you," she blurted out. Jim looked at her. "Me?"

"You hit on me in a bar once, in Pittsburg."

Jim raised his chin not knowing what she was talking about but agreeing with her all the same. "That does sound like me."

"I didn't know you had a kid," she looked at Kevin who shied behind Jim's leg further. Not my kid, he wanted to say but instead he smiled a tight lipped little thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Long story."

"If you two are quite finished," Spock came across the room to stand next to Uhura. He crossed his hands behind his back at the wrist like a soldier. "I believe you have questions for us just as we have questions for you." Jim nodded and before his new visitors could say anything else, walked over to the chair next to his window – old, blue and blotched with bleach stains after an unfortunate cleaning incident a few years ago – but still a hell of a comfortable chair. He tried to hold back his limp but felt like he was wholly unsuccessful as he sat down hard then brought Kevin up onto his lap. Leonard, who had watched him walk looked at him with a hint of sadness and a degree of longing in his eyes before he shook his head and the scowl was back. Jim cleared his throat.

"So tell me why you felt the need to break into my house. What? The world isn't shitty enough without all this home burglary?"

"We incorrectly assumed all of the residence of this neighborhood were evacuated. We are in need of supplies." Spock spoke so mechanically Jim wondered if he was a robot instead of a man.

"What would you do with the supplies?" He asked. It was a stupid question but he needed to cover all his maybe them thinking he wasn't all that smart would turn out to be in his favor.

"We have a camp four miles from here."

"How many people lives in your camp? Is it one of those uh," Jim faltered at the word. "Uh, safe areas?

"Negative." Robot Man didn't even blink. "The designated Safe Zones are one hundred eight point four three miles away from our camp thus rendering it too far."

"Why not drive?" Jim questioned. Uhura snapped her head up from where she had been looking down at the carpet. "No one has any electricity to power the cars."

I have a car that uses gas, Jim thought but said nothing. Better to keep a few aces up his sleeve. Not for the first time he congratulated himself for being one of the few people to still own a gas powered car after they'd all but been eradicated with the new era of electric cars.

God Bless forward thinking.

You know what just god bless Jim fucking Kirk because he seemed to be the only smart one lately.

Other than the whole tripping and falling down the stairs in his own home and breaking his ankle. Then just about killing himself trying to reroute a circuit that was attached to the main line and electrocuting himself while tinkering with the generator. Also the whole people breaking into his house and him hiding in the bathtub thing...

Yeah, other than those things he was pretty fucking smart, if he did say so himself.

"How many people live in your camp?"

"Including those with us now fifty eight. We allow anyone not sick into our camp as long as they provide positively towards the well-being and establishment of the camp."

Damn.

"And how do you know none of those people are sick?"

This time Leonard spoke, "All those not immune are already sick or dead by this point."

There was that word again. Immune. As if there were people out there who couldn't get sick at all. Lucky bastards.

Finally Jim asked a question he had been hypothesizing about for the last few weeks. "Is it true the ones who are dead only come out when it rains or at night?"

"Affirmative." Spock said the same time as Leonard scoffed. "The Dead One's can't take the sun because it burns their skin, but they love the rain and the darkness."

"Well then," Jim looked out his small peephole. "Looks like you all are spending the night with me." Outside the first drop of rain fell against the sidewalk. On the roof the patter of rain could be heard. Leonard crossed his arms finally standing from Jim's bed as he looked up at the ceiling to hear the sound of rain hitting roof. Kevin looked up at Jim and whispered close to his ear, "Does this mean the strange people have to stay?"

"We have some questions for you Mr. Kirk," Spock called Jim's attention from the scared boy in his arms.

"Call me Jim," he countered. Mr. Kirk was his father and he was dead.

"Mr. Kirk, why are you still here?" Spock didn't even bat an eyelash at going against Jim's wishes. Jim huffed out a small breath. Oh well, if they wanted to kill him and steal his stuff they could've done it already. No need to tell all his secrets but they'd given him information he might as well open another lane and make this a two way street.

"When the evacuation order came out I had just broken my ankle." Leonard perked up at that. "I couldn't leave the house. I couldn't drive. I couldn't call anyone to come get me since the phone lines were dead." He specifically did not mention the fact the he had no one to call in the first place. "So I stayed. Started making it so no one could get in unless I let them in." Which also begs the question, who in their group was smart enough to pick his lock?

"How is it that you have electricity and others do not?"

Jim shrugged and slipped in an easy lie. "I have an engineering degree." Then added on the truth, "My parents worked at NASA, I helped out there for a time. Re-figuring a circuit isn't all that hard. I built a generator–"

"That's lasted this long?" The woman named Uhura looked surprised.

"What? Like it's hard?" Jim knew he was being an asshole but hey, these people broke into his damn house.

"You seem to have a supply of food, how did you come across enough to last you and your son this long?"

Not my son, Jim thought but didn't say anything. He didn't need Kevin to start crying again. "I'm not a hoarder," he prefaced. "But I did like having an excess of food or bottles of water and shit. I guess it came in handy." Jim purposely did not mention that after his father had died and his mother started to shut herself down with grief he had run away from home telling himself he'd live off the streets. He was fourteen and ready to face the world – or so he thought. He'd made it four months before he let himself be found when he walked into a police station wearing clothes that had once fit him but now hung off his wiry frame. The words starved and malnourished made some dent in his head and he swore to himself he would never fight or beg for food again. He would never be hungry again.

He also didn't mention that hadn't had a full meal in about a week. He even had to make Kevin's portions a little smaller to help save. Jim estimated they had about another two weeks of food and three of water before they ran out. Maybe it was a good thing these people had showed up.

"Alright," Leonard interrupts before Spock can ask another question. The man was looking at Jim intently from his face down to his right leg. Maybe how hard the strange man was staring at him was the reason Jim broke out in a cold sweat over his brow. The room seemed to get colder making Jim shudder and wish for a jacket. At the same time however the nausea and sweat on his forehead made him want to just sit still and stay forever, never moving with his heavy limbs. "I think I should take a look at ya, kid. You ain't looking too good."

Jim pushes down the sickness in his throat. Swallows it like he had for the last few days. "Don't touch me Sawbones," he says darkly. No way in hell he was getting anywhere near a doctor. Nope. No way. Not for him. The man looks angry at Jim's words.

"Come on," Jim gestures to the door after a minute of silence with the Sawbones guy staring at him a little too hard. "I need to go downstairs to fix the lock you broke then we'll find someplace for you to sleep until morning." If the three were surprised by his offer they didn't show it instead filing out the room in front of Jim and Kevin. Kevin jumps off Jim's lap and walks to the door watching them go down the steps. Before Jim gets up from his spot on the chair he looks down at his hand surprised to see he was still clutching his gun. He adjusts his grip ready to put the thing behind his back but then frowns. There was something off about the piece that caught Jim's attention. He expels the cartridge and peeks at the inside. A shiver goes down Jim's spine as he looks at his gun. He has to laugh at himself, one quick brutal chuckle. It's not even loaded. An empty cartridge stares back at him like the lone Reaper standing in a foggy cemetery with his scythe and black cape rippling on the ground.

This day just keeps getting better.


	5. Chapter 5: The Desperate People

"I think this guy's got the sickness," Adam Hendorff says crossing his arms and scowling. It wasn't that he was angry, just annoyed. They would have to kill him now before he could die and become a Dead One.

"You think?" Chekov whispers, he doesn't want the man to hear him. He suddenly feels scared. He knew he couldn't get sick, he's known since the outbreak that he's immune, but the process of watching a sick one die was not pleasant. It was sad, terrifying. The strange man with dirty blond hair and a slight limp had opened his home to them for the night and this man had a son. He was nice.

Sulu leaned against the granite countertop next to Chekov peaking around the younger man until he spotted the stranger by the door. He was on his butt with the leg that had a black cast encasing it splayed out straight and the other one bent as he worked on the large metal lock that used to be fastened to the door. The guy's kid sat across from him silently playing with a yellow and red car. He zoomed the car forward, then back. Forward and back. All while puttering little noises from his mouth like an engine moving along. It was a child's toy that Sulu could remember his little sister playing with when they were younger. It was a pleasant scene with the man occasionally whispering things to the boy and the boy smiling up at him as he played. It almost looked normal. Like this was months ago and the world hadn't gone to shit.

However, the unnatural sweat dripping off the man's brow tainted the scene. He was pale, his hands shook minutely as he worked a screwdriver into the metal box surrounding the door knob. He looked like shit. He looked like he was sick.

Great… Just wonderful…

"He don't got the Sickness." Chekov jumped as Leonard came to stand next to him staring at the man and child. Leonard didn't take his eyes off the strange blonde. "Jim said he broke his ankle about three months ago, got a cast put on around that time. That casts' been on too long. He's got an infection." He said it so matter of factly Sulu has no choice but to believe him.

"What?" Chekov looked at him critically. Leonard didn't take his eyes off the man but lowered his voice to a murmur.

"There's discoloration in his toes along with swelling that shouldn't be happening this far post injury also," he lowers his voice even more. "You can smell it, can't you? I can practically smell it. The idiot must've submerged his leg or something in the months they've been hiding here. It's infection. Water gets under the cast and it can't dry making the skin soft and thin. Wouldn't be too hard to get an open wound going that would have a damn hard time closing."

Sulu ran a hand over his black short chopped hair. "But how do you know he doesn't have it?"

"None of the symptoms are there. He's sick, that's for damn sure, but not from the Sickness. If the dumbass wasn't dead set on keeping a ten foot radius between us I could get down and get that damn cast off to check it out."

"How do you know he ain't just fakin'? He could be covering up the real symptoms," Hendorff huffed gruffly, not convinced. If the guy was Sick they'd have to kill him and then they'd probably have to kill the kid too. They probably got each other infected.

And Hendorff hated killing kids. Really he did.

But this was life.

Leonard raised an eyebrow at the bald man who stood like a jackass with his arms crossed. "I'm a Doctor, damnit. I know these things."

Hendorff shrugged. Leonard turned back to Jim and Kevin and muttered to himself. "I need to get that cast off his foot and treat him if he wants to go with us tomorrow."

"Whoa, what?" Hendorff uncrossed his arms. "Are we just picking up randoms now?" His voice was steadily rising. "We don't even know what they're about. For all we know he's some kid fucker!"

Hendorff didn't like new people. New people meant new problems and uncertainty. Nothing good.

Spock came into the he room having stood up from the couch where he had been trying to relax after the stressful day they'd had. He came close to Adam, right up close until they were but inches from nose to nose. "I would advise you to keep your mouth closed. Mr. Kirk has kindly offered his home to us for the duration of the night or rain storm. However, if you feel you can survive the night outside the premises than I believe we can and shall oblige you." Spock was calm but his words held fire.

"Whatever." Hendorff scoffed before going off to the living room and plopping down on the couch in a huff. Leonard looked to Spock gratefully, his hands shaking slightly in fists by his sides. He didn't know why he felt so protective of the man in the other room now silently working on the lock to keep them in and the Dead Ones out, but he did.

It was a little over fifteen minutes later when Jim and his kid came walking – or in Jim's case _limping_ – into the kitchen. Sulu, Uhura, Chekov, Scotty and Hendorff sat on the couch relishing in the smooth softness and only slightly envious that Jim had gotten to live so nicely over the last few months and they'd had to struggle. Sulu leaned back on the couch with his eyes closed while Chekov flipped the page in a book that had been open on the table in front of the couch. Uhura did the same to some magazine next to him. Hendorff had his arms crossed scowling but no one paid him any mind. Scotty itched to go downstairs to take another look at that generator but Leonard had told them all in not so gracious terms not to go around snooping anymore until the Jim guy could talk to them. Leonard stood with Spock in the kitchen. They were quietly conversating over the benefits verses dangers of bringing this new man with them back to camp.

On the one side he was somehow smart enough to build a generator from parts he happened to have laying around. He also had an engineering degree from somewhere and was efficient enough to construct a lock even Chekov had trouble breaking. He had enough foresight to store food and water and had managed to take care of not only himself but also the little boy who stayed glued to his side. On the other hand however, they knew nothing about him. He might've been a decent person before the Sickness but circumstances turned good people into desperate people and desperate people were dangerous.

"All locked up, I hope no one wants to leave cause you're not getting out," said Jim wiping his hands on his jeans coming into the kitchen. Kevin clung to his pant leg sucking on his right thumb and looking up at the two men with big eyes holding his toy tightly in hand. Leonard thought it odd the boy looked nothing like Jim.

"We do not wish to." Spock had his hands placed behind his back. "Also, we appreciate your willingness to house us. We are in your debt." If this were a few months ago Leonard would have rolled his eyes at Spock but now it was different. He was different. Hell, everything was different. Spock had saved his ass too many times for Leonard to poke fun of his strange mannerisms.

Jim waved the black haired man off dismissively. Sweat shined on his pale face and he visibly gulped wiping away at his forehead and above his upper lip. Leonard wanted desperately to ask to look at the man. Just do a quick once over to check and make sure he was alright. He was sure he didn't have the Sickness but whatever he did have Leonard didn't like. Jim licked his lips.

"There's bottled water in the cabinet. The fridge works but grab what you want fast or else you'll let out all the cold air. Also there's some cans and stuff in that cabinet." He pointed to beside Spock. By this point even those sitting in the living room were listening intently. Jim looked suddenly nervous as his hand shook slightly where it was rubbing against his hip. "Uhh, there's a room upstairs that you guys can use. Or the couch if you want and... shower..." He started to sway on his feet. More swear glistened his brow. Leonard took a small step forward. "Kev and I share a... a room now so you don't have to... Don't have to…"

Suddenly blue eyes rolled to the back of Jim's head and the man's legs went to jelly as he fell forward. Someone screamed, it was high and sounded like a child. Leonard was there first catching Jim before he could hit the ground. Spock was right next to him in a second.

"What is wrong?"

Leonard felt the man's sweaty head then opened up his eyes to check his pupils. He felt for a pulse feeling the fast thready beat that concerned him. He looked down at the man thinking fast. Sulu was suddenly next to him on the other side of Spock. "What do you need Doc?"

He let his instinct kick in. He was calm. Once a doctor, always a doctor.

Jim was still held tightly in his arms with his face buried into Leonards' neck. The feeling of his breath ghosting over his skin made the older man shiver.

"Spock, we need to look at his leg, get that pant leg up to expose it. I don't care if you tear his pants. Sulu get some water, cold if there's any. And a washcloth. Now." The two did their duties. "Chekov!" He yelled the younger man over. "I need you to get one of my knives. The serrated one big, black handle. It's in my bag. Get the medkit and also grab the disinfectant that's in my bag." Chekov didn't move, feet planted firmly and a look of horror on his face.

"A-Are you going to cut off his leg?"

If Leonard was a more patient man he would have been able to deal with stupid questions on a more daily basis. However, Leonard was not a patient person.

"No idiot we're getting the damn cast off now go!" Time was of the essence.

Leonard looked up as he set Jim's pliant body on the cool tile of the kitchen. He heard a small sob and looked up to see the kid, Kevin, crying. "Nyota!" He called and the woman was there sweeping the child into her arms and cooing at him before taking him into the other room. Spock ripped the pant leg to and past Jim's knee then sat back. The cast had small chunks ripped out the top from where Jim no doubt had tried to pry the thing off. That was the thing about casts though, they were child, idiot and normal person proof. Leonard was no normal person, he knew how to get a cast off even if it was a strong, hard SOB.

Chekov came running back into the kitchen with Leonard's knife and kit clutched in tow with a bottle of disinfectant. He passed it to Leonard's waiting hands. He opened the bottle poring it over the knife. It wasn't perfect but it would do. Hopefully he didn't knick Jim's skin with it anyways. Sulu got down on his knees by Jim's head. He put the cloth in the water, rung it out then placed it on Jim's burning forehead without a word from Leonard.

"Alright," the doctor said scooting closer to Spock. "We need to saw off the cast." Thank God he always kept his knives sharp and his kit was stocked with even more than he needed. Spock nodded.

There was movement from Jim, his leg twitched. "Sawbones...?" He slurred opening blearily overly blue eyes to look down at Leonard by his ankle.

"You're alright Jim but we need to–"

"No!" Jim just about squeaked not having any more energy to speak. "No, p-please don't." Jim struggled to move but his attempts were useless as his body disobeyed him. His eyes were panicked and breath came too fast. Leonard turned back to Spock getting ready to ignore the man completely until he yelled, actually _yelled_ for the first time. "I-I don't consent. I don't!"

Automatically Leonard's hands jerked back off his patient. "What?" He demanded more than asked. That's when he noticed Jim was crying. Actually crying with tears traveling sideways down his face and into his ears or onto the tiled floor.

"I don't give you my consent. Please. Don't." He pleaded. Leonards' heart broke. What the hell had happened to this kid?

Leonard bit his lip hard feeling a spike of pain and the saltiness of blood. "Fuck," he whispered.

"Doctor McCoy?" Spock looked at him with worry in his eyes and Leonard was shocked to see that emotion, or any emotion in his otherwise stoic friend. Jim shook as his body tried to fight off the infection and his panic attack.

"Fuck it."

And he picked up his knife. Desperate people and all that. He was a doctor damnit and what could they do? Take his license away? The people who did that are probably dead by now just like this blonde haired man was about to be if they didn't work fast.

Jim was still trying to get away but his movements were slowing down from their already weak attempts. Fat tears rushed from his red eyes making the blue an almost striking color. "Sawbones, what? What are you–"

"Okay kid, we gotta take this here cast off." Leonard growled crowding into Jim's face letting his anger and a bit of worry show. "You've kept it on too long and infection's set in. You're gonna die Jim, you realize that? If I let this stay on you're gonna die and leave Kevin all alone. You'll leave him."

Low blow. Real low but Leonard was going to dish it all out if it meant saving this kid's life

"I'm sorry," the sincerity in the man's voice almost made Leonard's eyes water. And just like that the fight left the kids' body and he went limp. Leonard brought up his knife to begin to saw away at the cast.

"Bones?"

"This is gonna fucking hurt, kid. I'm sorry."

"Do what you gotta do."

And he did.


	6. Chapter 6: The Forgotten Ones

Lights, someone talking and another whimpering lightly next to him drew Jim from the depths of his mind. There was brightness behind his eyelids causing it to look almost pink as he struggled to open them. The light made his head throb with the force of a hundred hangovers. It was too bright. Somewhere deep inside he felt a whimper escape his mouth. Suddenly whatever was causing the brightness and the searing of his sensitive retinas was turned off and he sighed contently feeling groggy. Foggy. Like he knew he should open his eyes but at the same time the devil on his other shoulder whispered in his ear for them to stay closed.

Was he dying? Was he already dead? Was this what heaven felt like?

Jim hoped this wasn't heaven, it smelled like shit. Body odor and sickness.

There's a soft touch on his head as if someone is caressing him. Fingers run through his hair slow and tender. It makes him feel grounded and gives him a tether to grab a hold of. He tries to lunge at the soft touch at the top of his head but the feeling retreats. It's gone. As if it were never there in the first place. Jim's world is dark, empty and now without the warm presences. He feels sad.

"You're one lucky son of a bitch."

It's the first and last thing Jim hears as he tries to claws his way back to consciousness. He thinks the voice says something else but he's not sure as the steep hill he's climbing goes out from under him and he loses his footing along with his grasp on reality. He falls feeling darkness consume him once more.

It can't be too long later when Jim comes back to himself again. It's easier to make the trek up the never ending mountain and he comes back to himself with a gasp. His lungs burn for air like he'd never breathed a day in his short life. He keeps his eyes closed focusing all his energy on bringing air into his sore lungs, then back out. It takes hours or days or maybe minutes until he feels the ache retreat from sharp all-consuming to a roar of dull fiery embers. This time, he sits still not making a sound and in turn hearing nothing around him. There's no warm presence, he feels cold. Slowly, gently, he opens his blurry eyes surprised at the crust that sticks them together. He attempts to bring his hands up to rub at his eyes but when he goes to move them they're nothing more than dead weight at his sides. Jim looks around the room, panicked.

Did those strangers poison him?

Where the fuck was Kevin?

If they hurt that little boy Jim swears to God not even the Devil himself could hold him back. He's not just some dumb hick from Nowheresville, he could take them. Maybe not at the current moment but definitely when he has his strength back from wherever the hell it was sucked away to.

He tries to move, to get up and out of wherever he is but it's futile. His legs don't move. They're stuck like they've been glued to the sheets of the bed he lies on. Jim's breath starts to quicken once more along with his heart beat.

 _Move, move, move, you idiot_! He screams clenching his teeth to hold back his grunt and scream. It feels like his arms are shifting through molasses but eventually they do his bidding. He tries to put his hands under his right leg to get it to shift over to the side of the bed like he's been doing for months but stops when pain like he's never felt before shots up his leg. He cries out silently feeling himself start to freak out. Pain. Panic.

 _Don't panic Kirk, keep it together._

Jim isn't sure how he gets on the floor but he suddenly finds himself laying on his stomach on the ground feeling bile race up his throat. He turns his head and retches on the carpet as silently as he can. He's shaking and covered in throw up by the time he's finished. Part of him feels a little grossed out at the contents of his stomach staring back at him on the floor and partially on his clothes, but he forces himself to forget about it.

 _Kevin_ , he tells himself. _Those bastards better not have hurt my so– that little boy_.

He feels weak and heavy, groggy and just this side of panicked. Jim forces his protesting body to move, _damnit_ and miraculously it does. He crawls breathing hard and heavily towards what looks like a closed door. The door itself seems familiar but the haziness and his blurred vision don't help him as he attempts to focus his gaze on it. He crawls for what feels like hours but couldn't have been more than a few minutes until he feels his arms shake so violently that his elbows buckle under him and he falls face fist into the carpet. His right leg protests overwhelmingly as it's jarred and he can't hold back the scream that rips from his throat. Everything hurts.

He's on fire.

No, he's rotting fast and painfully from the inside out.

Oh God, a thought finally breaches his foggy mind – he has it. He has the Sickness. Those people had the Sickness and gave it to him. He's dying. He is going to die. Oh God. Did Kevin get it? Did they just leave him here to rot and die and take the boy to safely?

The fight abruptly drains from Jim as the thought of being alone consumes his body. Dread cocoons him wrapping him in its acid tendrils. Now he can't blame the strange intruders for running away as fast as they could from him. He's got it, it's the end. He would have done the same thing.

Well, he would have put the person out of their misery before leaving them to be consumed but Jim supposes that it isn't a perfect world after all.

A tear makes its way down Jim's cheek and he curls into himself on the cool plush carpet. His stomach hurts as he crunches in on himself into a fetal position. His mouth is dry but sticky as snot and tears run down his face and he sobs.

He's alone.

He's going to die on this floor with his leg on fire and his body not cooperating with him.

He is going to die _alone_.

He thinks of all the times he stayed in when people who he wasn't necessarily friends with but acquaintances begged him to go out. He used to love being alone – having time for himself to study or clean or tinker with _this_ box circuit set or _that_ motor. His being alone had always felt full and comforting, but not now. Now he felt empty. Unwanted. Unloved. A kicked puppy finally giving in and not barking back anymore.

The world was such an unfair place.

He feels like throwing up again but doesn't have enough energy to even gag. His head thrums with his quick heartbeat telling him he's still alive for now but promising it won't be long. Jim gives out another hearty sob winding himself into a tighter and tighter ball. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to die like this. It was supposed to be a long, long time from now after he'd gotten a degree and a nice ass job with a nice ass house and a cute ass dog with equally cute ass children and a hot ass partner by his side holding him in his arms as he keels over from old fucking age. Jim used to have dreams of gazing up at the stars looking as they twinkled and sparkled above. There would be a blanket under him as he lay in the arms of the person he loves with all his heart. They would gaze at the stars then gaze at each other knowing that nothing, _nothing,_ could make life better than this, than this moment of looking at each other and seeing absolute trust with absolute love and absolute safety.

But none of that was going to happen, he was going to die here on the carpet with throw up on his shirt.

God, why did his life suck?

Jim lets out another sob because fuck the future he never got the chance to have and fuck the people who got him sick and fuck Kevin's parents for leaving the poor kid to fend for himself but most importantly fuck Jim for not being fucking smart enough to live any longer.

He's going out like his dad, in a blaze of not as much glory and less sacrifice but equally as not fair and far slower.

His dad was an astronaut, but man was never really meant to go to space. Not now anyways. Not when they weren't even smart enough to create shuttle crafts that didn't fucking explode four minutes and thirty-eight seconds after liftoff. Winona had helped engineer the craft, she never forgave herself. Jim had been eleven years old when he saw the explosion light up the TV screen as he sat on the couch with Sam and Grandpa Tiberius.

It was obvious that George Kirk was dead in an instant. No pain. But what good does that do? Okay yeah, George felt nothing but what about Winona as she sank to the ground in the underground room she'd just kissed her husband goodbye in then watched him and three others walk out and up to the craft like heroes ready for space adventure? What about Sam who screamed as flames filled the sky? The shuttle seemed to just float for a second before it came crashing back to the earth. Tiberius placed a hand over his mouth, silent tears shed as he watched his son die in an instant. And Jim, just starting to grow into his lanky limbs and skinny frame sat and stared open mouthed and eyes wide.

Some things you just never forget.

And now Jim was going to die just like his dad died but for all different reasons. He was going to die because he was an idiot. A stupid little fuck who thought there was no way he could get sick. It wouldn't happen to him, couldn't happen to him. Absently he wonders what type of – what was it the others had called it? A Dead One? – he wonders what type of dead one he would become. Would he wander aimlessly around the streets limping and dragging his limps at night with no purpose trapped inside a body wanting nothing more than to drift? Or would he become a runner whose purpose was to feed? God, he would hurt people. He would try to fucking eat people!

Jim feels his stomach clench hard as he gags dry heaving. Spit drips from his mouth covering the side of his face.

 _Shit_ , he thinks. _Fuck_ _me. Fuck this world_. He's so angry and sick and embarrassed and weak. But mostly angry and weak. And tired. God was be tired. Alone. He was all alone.

There was once billions of people in this world but now there were probably closer to millions after the Sickness. There were so many people and here Jim was forsaken. Forgotten. Him and his shadow. One more among the many to succumb to the plague. It's a terrible feeling realizing you're not special, that you never were. Realizing that you're going to die on the floor from sickness.

Jim thinks he hears something above his head. It sounds like a gasp but maybe it just comes from his own mouth as he cries into his chest. He doesn't notice as the door is flung open. He doesn't notice as a person curses loudly. He's too caught up in his own head.

"Jim!"

Then there's another shout, louder and more demanding this time as the person jumps into the room rushing over to Jim's sobbing figure crumpled on the floor.

"Jesus kid," the person whispers and goes to get Jim to untangle himself from his own body. Jim whimpers something to slight to hear. He looks up at the man who is staring down at him worriedly. Jim is surprised to see the brown and hazel speckled eyes staring down at him. The man as a strong jaw, thin lips and hair that looks soft enough to run his fingers though.

 _Sawbones_?

Jim blinks up at him before feeling a cry bubble passed his lips. Even with the man so close he still feels a nagging feeling devastating his gut. Alone. He still feels so alone.

"Don't leave me alone..." He whispers brokenly in a voice too soft and way too hurt to be his own. "Please... don't leave me. I don't want to be... alone."

And his world goes dark as he feels himself falling. He thinks he hears someone far away say something but he doesn't know as he falls though the cold darkness.

"I won't Jim. I won't leave you. I promise."


End file.
